


Satan Preserve Me

by englandwouldfalljohn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Miraculous removal of clothing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: It had been six thousand years, give or take, and this was the moment that finally broke the dam.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 114
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	Satan Preserve Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LayneyPotPie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayneyPotPie/gifts).



It had been six thousand years, give or take, and this was the moment that finally broke the dam. 

Honey-golden sunlight dripped through the bookshop’s windows, casting a sleepy warmth over the room. Crowley sat on the floor, dreamily ignoring the stacks of inventory piled around him in favour of studying the dust motes as they waltzed in the air before his eyes. He’d taken off his glasses… over there… somewhere… and in the haze of Sunday afternoon locked up alone with Aziraphale, he couldn’t find a care for their whereabouts. He might have felt differently if he’d known what would happen in the next few minutes. 

For Aziraphale, hard at work sorting and resorting, writing down figures and lists he would never consult again, was feeling flushed with exertion. It led him to do something unthinkable, something about which Crowley had hardly dared to dream. Aziraphale shrugged  _ out _ of his  _ jacket. _ Fingers working on autopilot, they met around his midsection next and—button by painstaking button—began to remove his waistcoat as well. 

Crowley felt his spine straighten uncharacteristically, as though the tugging of fabric over Aziraphale’s shoulders were controlling his own vertebrae. Next thing, that devilishly beautiful angel lifted two fingers to his collar. In the second that it took, Crowley envisioned them pressing into his mouth, laying heavy against his tongue as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked for all his name was worth. He blinked his fantasy away, feeling the yellow spreading from his irises. The fingers had found their mark, latching onto the loose end of that damnable bow tie and stretching it inch by inch by inch away from Aziraphale’s neck, until the whole garment released to hang open at his neck. 

Crowley licked his lips in anticipation of what was certain to come. And indeed, those same fingers, that same sinfully powerful hand, undid the top button on Aziraphale’s collar. It was obscene. Crowley’s breath came in uneven pants through slightly parted lips. He was wondering how he would last the afternoon with his companion in such a state, when  _ it _ happened: the sleeves. Azirphale had opened his shirt cuffs and was now  _ rolling _ his  _ sleeves.  _ Rays of sun trickled over the angel’s shoulders, illuminating the fair hair of his arms against milky-white skin, and that was it. All sense of propriety, thousands of years in the making, melted away from Crowley in the instant it took to leap to his feet and cross to the edge of the desk where Aziraphale stood. 

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale whispered. Even in his surprise, he was aware of the solemn tint to the air. 

‘Please.’ It was a whimper, a plea. Crowley’s fingers twitched above the cotton still covering Aziraphale’s right forearm. When the nod came in response, he didn’t hesitate. Each fold of fabric was a prayer, silent and heavy in his chest. When the sleeve sat just beneath Aziraphale’s elbow, he paused, fingertips light on exposed skin. 

‘Crowley.’

Sunflower eyes raised, brimming with anxious desire, and widened at the pure expression of hope they found before them. Aziraphale  _ wanted _ . Aziraphale wanted  _ him. _ Crowley’s gaze fluttered down to pale lips—lips which lied and schemed, which pouted and praised. He crept toward those lips, a glacier sailing in the midnight sun. Aziraphale tasted of honey and cream. Smooth lips and tentative tongue swept against, inside his mouth, and Crowley knew that if this were allowed now, he would kiss his angel until the cold heart within him melted into a warm pool of bottomless emotion. 

Crowley sucked a pink bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently. Aziraphale moaned, and he grew bolder. Slender arms wrapped around a solid waist, hands slipping up to cradle shoulder blades which flexed and shifted as Aziraphale threaded careful fingers into artfully mussed hair. He pulled, a bit harder than was  _ strictly _ necessary, and Crowley instinctively crowded him up against the desk. A few books and an open ledger rained to the floor. When Aziraphale turned to spare them some attention, Crowley locked his mouth onto the snowy expanse of his angel’s neck. He savoured the rhythm of a decadently Earthly pulse, pounding hard against his tongue as it followed the length of a vein up under the gentle curve of chin. 

The way Aziraphale threw his head back suggested he would save his complaints about the mess for later. Crowley pressed his advantage. This could all come crashing down afterward, he knew; he should take as much as Aziraphale was willing to give. Nimble fingers snapped, the sound muffled by the soft groan issuing from Aziraphale’s throat as Crowley trailed hungry lips across his jaw, latching onto the lobe of his ear. The second button on Aziraphale’s shirt opened with a rustle. Snap, snap, snap. A warm hand slipped beneath the fabric and… oh, it was glorious. This angel—this dreadfully proper and steadfast creature—was not wearing a vest underneath. The feel of his skin, the tickle of chest hair against Crowley’s fingertips, was almost more than he could bear. If he’d have been any less of a demon than he was, he would have broken into tears as he dipped his head, bringing his lips to place reverent kisses over Aziraphale’s heart. He skimmed his teeth over a nipple, sucking as he withdrew, and Aziraphale gripped tightly to his hair and held him in place. Satan preserve him, Crowley was going to discorporate before this was finished. 

‘Don’t stop, C-Crowley, please… please don’t stop!’

Crowley’s cock twitched painfully in his jeans. He had been so focused on what he was being  _ allowed,  _ he’d forgotten entirely about what he  _ wanted. _ Now, finally hearing those words in the voice that had haunted his fantasies for so long, he realized that all he wanted was to say ‘yes.’

He redoubled his attention, sucking and nipping and rolling his tongue over Aziraphale’s nipple, and lifted the forefinger of his left hand to the angel’s lips. Aziraphale welcomed it into his mouth, sucking and moaning as though Crowley was some sugar-laced dessert. When the finger found Aziraphale’s other nipple, the angel’s back arched, and their clothing was gone. Crowley suddenly found his aching cock grazing the velvety skin of Aziraphale’s, and he desperately pressed their bodies flush, lips coming up to whisper against Aziraphale’s mouth. 

‘Tell me what you want, Angel. I’ll give it to you—anything, everything! Please…’

‘C-Crowley,’ Aziraphale panted as Crowley’s finger pressed eager circles into his left nipple. ‘In-oh-inside me… have a-always… wanted…’

Crowley was wrong. He would not discorporate. He would die. Hell below, he would die and it would be worth it. Another snap of his fingers, and they became slick. He trailed the back of his wrist down the length of Aziraphale’s chest, skimmed his knuckles along the lengths of their cocks, both firm and dripping with anticipation, and reached between those immaculate thighs. One day, if he survived this, he would need to submit to a proper worship of those gorgeous, gorgeous thighs. 

Aziraphale’s body brooked no resistance as he slid two fingers into him. The heat and pressure was almost too much, and Crowley bit into Aziraphale’s shoulder to stifle a cry. There was something so gloriously intimate about touching the one he’d loved so wholly for so long in this way, and he turned to bury his nearly weeping face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley latched on to the skin once more as his fingers began the slow drag and quick plunge in and out, in and out, and curling just so—

‘OH, oh fuck, Crowley, PLEASE!’

Holy hell! Forget his own needs, Crowley could do this for a millennium if Aziraphale was going to curse like that. 

‘Do you like that, Angel?’ He teased, confidence mounting with the mad rush of desire and love welling inside of him.

‘Yes-’ Aziraphale began to reply, when Crowley grazed that clever bundle of nerves again- ‘YES! YES! I need…. I need…’

‘Shh. I’ll take care of you, always. What do you need?’

‘More! Please, I n-need more.’ He was nearly sobbing, and Crowley had never felt such urgency to please and protect. He withdrew slowly, scissoring his fingers in a silent spell that ensured no pain would come to his wondrously trusting friend. His still-slick fingers pumped down his own length, once, twice, just enough to prepare him for the miracle to come. It would not be a snap of fingers or a slight of hand—no otherworldly parlour trick, this. Aziraphale was gifting himself, opening himself, in all his Earthly glory, and Crowley would be twice damned if he didn’t pay due reverence. 

He lined their bodies up, and Crowley began to push inside. If he had done his job right, Aziraphale would feel nothing but pleasant fullness.

‘Are you alright?’ His jaw clenched around the question, fighting back a stomach-rumbling moan that threatened to spill out any moment. 

‘Oh, yes!’ Aziraphale huffed, searching Crowley’s eyes for acceptance. ‘Would you tell me… what it’s like?’

‘Angel,’ Crowley groaned, eyes pressing shut and his forehead tipping against Aziraphale’s, ‘you’re going to be the death of me. You’re so tight and warm. Your body, drawing me in… it’s like holy fire in the dead of winter.’

Crowley pushed himself in farther, reveling in their joint groan as he buried his entire length in Aziraphale’s body. His hand snaked over Aziraphale’s naked flesh, reaching down to grip his cock. He held tight to the base, then slid his hand up, ran it over the tip, and back down, following the rhythm of their bodies moving together. 

‘You’re smooth and deep, like the world beneath snow. You’re soft and rolling, like water. Oh Angel, my Angel… you’re everything!’

Aziraphale’s head tilted backward, and Crowley braced himself more firmly against the side of the desk as he pumped, harder and faster, into Aziraphale. Sharp hip bones grazed tender flesh, and Aziraphale dug his nails into Crowley’s scalp and drew their mouths together. Gasps and curses mingled on their tongues, and their breaths grew more and more shallow until-

‘C-Crowley! I- I- ahhhhfuckIloveyouIloveyou!’

Crowley was already tumbling over the edge, his eyes slamming shut as Aziraphale’s body clenched around him, squeezing out every last moment of pleasure. It was impossible to tell where one’s trembling ended and the next’s began, as they slid slowly to the floor. Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s head as he sunk toward the carpet, body glowing gold with relaxation. Crowley hated to interrupt this moment, but he needed to know.

‘Angel, I- Aziraphale. Do you usually… I mean, do you always say that, after…’

‘After? Dearest, after wh- oh.’ Aziraphale went pink to the tips of his ears. ‘I suppose I should have mentioned it, but I never have. Well, I suppose that’s not true anymore.’ He looked away shyly. ‘This, well, this was my first  _ time.’ _

‘Oh.’ Crowley flushed as well, knowing soon he’d have to make the same confession himself. But first- ‘So you… you didn’t mean…’

‘Of course I meant it. I was simply stating that I couldn’t have always said it after because I had never had an after before now. As to whether I’ll always say it going forward, I suppose that depends.’

‘Depends on what?’ Crowley’s flush deepened to match his hair. Aziraphale had said  _ going forward. _

‘On whether you,’ Aziraphale gestured vaguely with one hand. 

‘Love you, too. Angel, I always have done. You must know that.’

‘I do,’ he said, breaking into a broad grin, ‘I just wanted to hear you say it. And if I had known that simply rolling up my sleeves would finally push you over the edge, I would’ve done it in 1941. Now, be a dear and clean us up? You were always so much better at it than I. Ah yes, that’s better. Now. Enough of this inventory, don’t you think?’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ Crowley asked, utterly stunned and thrilled beyond measure. 

‘One single better idea.’

‘And that is?’

Aziraphale smirked. ‘Get thee behind me, foul fiend.’


End file.
